Sick
by Electric Smile
Summary: "What do you think of me, little rabbit? Am I imperfect?" "I think...I think you're very sick."


"Back again, Agent Xiang?"

She smiled politely, and took her seat across from him. Pretty was a good way to describe him. It implied some soft kind of beauty, something slightly feminine. With his long, blond hair, slightly almond shaped eyes, and lithe, rather than bulky, form he did come across as _pretty. _But she knew him well enough now to understand that the word was completely superficial for him. If what he was like on the inside was allowed to show through even for the briefest of seconds, she might not have a single word to describe something so repulsive.

"I'll be back every day, Vega. You know that," she responded. He smirked, but it was hollow. Smiles rarely reached his eyes, she noticed.

"My dear little rabbit, you've been chasing me for so long. Now that you finally have me, you've done nothing but ask me questions."

"What did you think I would do?"

"When a hunter catches its prey, the first thing it usually does is kill it. Sometimes they go right for the throat, sinking their fangs around the jugular and severing it. But others, they like to playa little bit first," he explained. She held back her disgust at the detail, and didn't stop him from talking. It was what he was here for. "So maybe, you want to play with me." He smiled again, eyes finding hers. "I know I want to play with you."

She stopped herself from shuddering, though the reaction was nearly involuntary. She had to maintain composure here if she wanted any cooperation. Should she slip up and let him see her disgust, then he'd take that as a cue to keep going, to make it worse. They'd never get anywhere if that were the case. "No, I don't want to play," she said calmly. "I just want to talk."

"So talk," he spat, suddenly upset. His moods shifted very quickly, making him difficult to predict. She'd run into this problem before, and it'd surprised her on its first occurrence. He'd been so charming, but with the proper trigger, or when things didn't go his way, he became irritated. Sometimes he'd show just mild annoyance. Other times, though, it was a little more frightening. Being cornered by him in such an instance before, she'd learned her lesson, and was lucky to be alive.

Crossing her legs, she settled into a slightly more comfortable position. "I want to hear what you have to say." Maybe it was foolish to hope he would reveal anything worth hearing, but he _did _love to talk about himself. She could only hope that would be as true in this environment as it had on the outside.

"What is it I'm supposed to reveal today?" he asked, cocking his head. "Security codes? GPS coordinates? An itemized list of the armory?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell."

"Maybe I won't talk until you take off the restraints," he said, suddenly playing coy again. He pulled his bound arms up slightly for emphasis. They were cuffed at the wrists, and secured to the chair he was sitting in. Without that added measure of security, he would do his best to strangle anyone he could get close to with the chains of the cuffs, to scratch at their eyes, pull at their hair, anything that would cause any sort of harm. He was very violent, in spite of his generally calm exterior. Being in their custody didn't seem frightening to him. It was more like an annoyance. He was convinced that his general would send help for him. He was considered a high ranking official, after all.

"You know I can't do that," she said.

"You could. Just this once," he said sweetly, begging almost, looking up at her through long lashes. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Then we could really get somewhere."

"I know, and you know, what would happen if I let you loose," she said, unwilling to pander to him. "You would jump over this desk. You would hurt me, or use me as your way out."

"Mmhm...You know me too well, then, I suppose," he said.

"I'd like to know you a little better."

"Would you? Or do you simply want to know what I know about Shadaloo?" he asked. "It must excite you. Having me, third in command, at your mercy." He rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling as he spoke. "You could do whatever you wanted with me. Torture me. Threaten me. Kill me, even, if you wanted. Surely there's a party of people begging for the death of this 'terrorist'."

"I don't think anyone wants you to die. They just don't want you to hurt anyone anymore," she said.

"It's my job, _mi querida._"

"Why do you want a job like that?" she asked.

"Because no one else will do it," he answered, nearly in a whisper as he leaned forward, locking eyes with her again. "Because there are certain people in this world who need to be erased from it. _They _are the ones who are the threat, not me."

She kept quiet as he spoke, sick as the words were to here. He seemed almost beyond any sort of rehabilitation. "No one deserves to die," she said, unable to allow him to entertain the notion that she might think he was right.

"You're still so naive, so innocent," he said. "I was like you once, you know."

The thought of her being anything like him disturbed her. But now she was curious as to how he could compare them. "Tell me."

He grinned, and again it was mirthless. "I loved my mother. Like you loved your father. But you know what I did when my mother died?" She shook her head, dreading the direction this was going. "I fought back_. _The man who killed her was the first of many, and I don't regret any of them. No one deserves to die?" He scoffed. "These pigs, those ugly things, doing all they can to ruin everything beautiful in this world-" He pressed his lips together, disgusted with even thinking about it. "I had to get rid of them. And when I realized my purpose it put me that much closer to perfection. He found them for me, and I would destroy them."

"I want to hear more about him."

"Of course you do," he said, that disgust still freely displayed. "I'm pouring my soul out to you, _mi coneja. _And you want to hear about another man. It never changes."

She frowned. "Then keep going."

"What would you want to hear?" he said, pressing against his restraints. "You couldn't give less of a shit about _me. _And this is how it always turns out! Because I'll always be second to someone! Whether it's Sagat, another _torero,_ my step-father, someone, _someone_ is always there to take precedence! When will _I _be recognized? Seen as worthwhile?" He laughed suddenly, and it frightened her. "When it's _my _blade peeling their skin from their horrendous faces, that's when they're finally paying attention. When I'm painting the walls with _their _blood, they notice me. But that's really the only time, it seems, that anyone realizes my genius. That's when I make headlines in something other than a tabloid no one takes seriously, or articles that no one reads. That's when I'm _really _famous."

She inhaled slowly in an effort to keep from recoiling. It would only set him off if she responded with the appropriate amount of disgust. But she'd cut to the core of something-the reasons for his actions."You feel ignored?"

He clenched his jaw, seemed to be looking past her now. "When it was just the two of us, it was better that way."

"You and your mother?"

"That animal stole her from me," he said. "And then he..." His anger subsided, and he looked nearly on the verge of tears. "He took her, for good. But-" Then, again, his expression changed, and he grinned wildly. "I think I got the last laugh."

"You killed him."

He nodded, still smiling, like he was recounting a delightful memory. "I did. And, I think, it was the best thing I'd ever done. Everyone heard about it. Everyone paid attention to that." He definitely had issues with attention, she was noticing. It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

"And after that?" she asked.

"The cage fights. Have you ever watched one?" She shook her head. Such displays of barbarism never interested her, and it didn't surprise her at all to find that he had indulged in them. "They're wonderful. I think there, not Shadaloo, is where I truly perfected my art."

"Then why bother with...Shadaloo?" It was probably the most interesting part of his entire story, but it was difficult to get him to say much about it.

"To be recognized for my greatness. Bison, I _thought _he did, anyway."

"Why?"

"He came to me personally," he explained, voice carrying the sting of one who felt they'd been wronged. "Told me how skilled I was, how he needed men like me. I'm a god damned _commander _for God's sake! Why hasn't he come for me yet? Just leaving me here to rot."

"I don't think he's coming for you." She said it gently, not wanting to set him off. But she couldn't indulge in his delusion any longer.

He gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply. "Do you know how many I've killed for him? How important I am to Shadaloo? I'm not just any assassin-I'm his _best. _So great, in fact, that I was entrusted with the personal safety of his clone." He smiled warmly, and again he seemed like he wasn't entirely rooted in the present. "I taught her everything I knew. How to kill like I did. He was pleased with that, until she began to malfunction."

"This was a problem for you?"

He looked up at her, the movement sharp and sudden. "Of course it was," he said as if it were obvious. "Anything less than perfect is unacceptable."

"What happened to the girl you were training?" she asked.

"She escaped," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. Any admittance to any kind of failure seemed difficult for him.

"Was Bison upset with you?"

His head shot up, and he stared at her intensely. She must have struck a nerve, she decided, and almost wished she hadn't. "Imperfection. Is. Intolerable," he repeated, unwilling to explain anything further. He tilted his head, watching her until she became so uncomfortable that she had to look away. And still, he stared. Finally, he asked her, "What do _you _think of me, little rabbit? Am I imperfect?"

"I think-" How did she respond to a question like that? To say what she really thought would jeopardize all chances of getting answers out of him. But was it ethical to lie to him? Just to get what she wanted? "I think you're very sick," she decided finally.

To her great surprise, he laughed. "Sick?" He uttered something in Spanish. "I'm not sick!"

"You are, Vega. In your head. Something's wrong with you, and we'd like to help, but...a lot of us believe you don't want it."

He shook his head, still smiling, and said, "I'm not _sick. _I just had a very bad day." She raised her eyebrows, a little confused. "Because that's all it takes for anyone, _mi coneja, _is a very bad, very awful day. And then everything changes. Just one terrible day, and you're left wondering-what have I been holding on to?" He laughed again, then smiled sheepishly at her. Slowly, his face fell, and he seemed utterly crushed, as if his whole world had been destroyed before his eyes. She watched him, partly with fascination, partly with pity as his eyes, which moments before had been lit with some insane glow now held nothing but a deep, haunting sorrow. The guise of calm and the bouts of anger were gone, exposing him for what he was. Hollow, lost, alone. He asked quietly in a broken voice, plainly more for himself than for her, "What have I been holding on to?"

"I can't tell you that, Vega," she said quietly. Sighing to herself at the lack of progress, she stood up and gathered her things. "I hope you can find something." She turned away from him and headed for the door.

"Don't you condescend to me!_" _he screamed, and she tried not to appear startled at his sudden vicious tone. "Ill? I'm not _ill!_ I'm _perfect, _and I'll make this world perfect, too! You can't keep me here forever, and you'll see then, you'll see just how _imperfect _you've been!" She forced herself to turn away, to get out before she did something to fuel his rage further. His screaming was muffled once she closed the door behind her. She let her eyes slide shut as she leaned against the wall, wishing she had some answers, some way to know how to fix him. Working with him was emotionally exhausting, more so than any other of the patients.

"How did it go today?" She looked up at the sound of the deep voice of one of her coworkers.

She sighed heavily. "He's not really responding to treatment. Still very firm in his convictions."

"He has some pretty elaborate delusions," the man said, nodding towards the door.

She nodded in agreement. "I know. I think this Shadaloo stuff, with its strict and rigid order, makes him feel safe. He speaks frequently about its leader. From what I can gather, he's hallucinating this omnipotent, almost god-like figure. When he kills someone for it, he feels rewarded, like he's serving a purpose. But when he does poorly, he uses it to punish himself."

"That's his motivation, then? He murders to satisfy the requests of these hallucinations?"

"In part," she said. "But some of them, it appears, aren't connected to the Shadaloo delusion. He kills people he considers ugly. He thought his step-father was ugly, and he associates other unattractive men with his mother's killer. It's a dangerous coping mechanism."

"And the English girl he kidnapped? Did you ever figure out where she played into it?"

"He believed she was a clone of the leader he's hallucinated, and that he had to keep her safe."

"Poor girl. I can't imagine how being trapped with him will end up impacting her," he said.

"She seemed to be doing well, last I heard of her. He didn't hurt her, or threaten her. She was scared the whole time that he would, but he never touched her, except to prevent her from leaving," she explained. "He wanted to keep this girl safe to make up for what happened to his mother." She inhaled quietly, still a little shaken up by his screaming. "He feels so much guilt over his mother, but he won't face it."

"Don't let him get to you. I don't even know why you bother."

"Because he needs help."

"He doesn't _want _help, Chun-Li. Some people are perfectly content with their delusional realities, because it's easier to face than their actual lives," he responded. "You can't change people. In the end, they have to make some of the effort, and some people never will."

"I know, Guile. I know, but..." She drew her brows together as she glanced back at the door. His screaming had subsided, and she wondered what he was thinking, as she had so many times before. "I want to believe that we can fix people as broken as him." She wanted to have hope, but knew her coworker was right. Some people just didn't want to be saved.

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><p><em>spot the comic book reference and win a prize! ;) thanks for reading!<em>

_hey just popping in to say, yep, you guys got it. :) it's the joker's 'bad day' story from the killing joke. while vega is more like some sort of sinister version of batman(rich young socialite guy leading a double life as a result of his parents death) i think he has a bit in common with the joker, too. the insanity being the most obvious connection, but also being the more chaotic, remorseless foil to the rigid morality of the person trying to bring him to justice(chun-li). well that's my ramble. thanks everybody for reading :)_


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